Mars
by Zan1781
Summary: Seven dead women, one mysterious tattoo. Can Sara find and stop a serial killer?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I haven't written anything in about a year, but I'm hoping that you will all enjoy this story. I'm not entirely sure where it's going just yet, but we'll see!

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers: **None. This also takes place before Sara left for Costa Rica.

**Title: **Mars

**Summary: **Seven dead women, one mysterious tattoo. Can Sara find and stop a serial killer?

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"I can't go on anymore," Caitlin wiped her tears away, her body slightly swaying in the breeze. Standing on a ledge twenty stories up, it was surprising that she hadn't yet fallen to her death. "I have nothing left to live for, and I just can't go on. No one wants me; no one loves me."

"That's right," Harold sat on the windowsill beside the ledge, his voice taking on an eerily calm tone. "That's right, Caitlin. You have nothing to live for anymore. Your family abandoned you, you can't pay your bills, and you'll never be in a positive relationship. Why not just end it now? Why not just say 'goodbye, cruel world,' and jump to your death?"

"I should," Caitlin sadly agreed with Harold's sentiment, taking one step closer to the edge. "What kind of a life will I lead on my own, anyhow? I have no one. I _am _no one."

"You're right, you're definitely very right about that," Harold seductively murmured, feeling his heart rate accelerate with the knowledge that Caitlin was just about to take her own life. "I know that if I were you, I would have already jumped. What's the point of living? You'll never amount to anything or anyone. Your boyfriend can't stand to be around you, your father disowned you, you have no friends to speak of. You're a loner, Caitlin, and you'll always _be _a loner."

"I—I don't want to live anymore," Caitlin couldn't stop the silent tears from sliding down her cheeks. "I have no future."

"Then jump," Harold tried to encourage her. "Jump, and you can end all of your pain and suffering right now."

Without any more prompting, Caitlin quietly stepped over the edge. She did not scream, nor did she flail her arms. She simply accepted what she had done.

Harold smiled, glancing over the ledge of his Bellagio hotel room. Caitlin wasn't the first person whom he had convinced to kill herself, nor would she be the last. "All in a day's work," he congratulated himself, stepping back inside to clean up. "All in a day's work."

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The night was almost perfect: the weather was gorgeous, the Bellagio fountain was dancing to the rhythm of a classical melody, and the Paris Hotel's Eiffel Tower was standing proud and erect. The tourists were happy, they were spending money, and they were mostly lost in the sights and sounds of the surrounding city.

Again, the night was _almost _perfect, made only imperfect by flashing red and blue lights as well as police caution tape adorning the back parking lot of the Bellagio.

"What do we have, David?" Nick asked, slapping on a pair of gloves as he approached Las Vegas's newest victim. Ignoring the curious bystanders, he knelt down beside the coroner.

"We have a female body with a broken neck, a broken leg, and two broken arms. Aside from the breaks, I don't see any obvious signs of abuse."

"No ligature marks on her wrists or neck?" Sara asked, coming up behind Nick, her camera at the ready.

"None that I can readily see," David replied, scrawling down a few notes on his pad. "Of course we'll know more once we get her back to the morgue," he admitted.

Sara nodded her head in understanding, snapping a few pictures of the body. "Were there any witnesses?" she then asked, glancing around the crowd for any sign of Jim.

"Brass is interviewing them now," Nick got to his feet. "But from what I've heard, several people saw her step off of the ledge of the hotel."

"So we're thinking a possible suicide?" David queried, motioning several morgue staff members over to help him secure and move the body.

"We're not thinking anything just yet," Sara gazed down at the poor woman lying dead on the ground in front of her. "She could have been drugged or forced off of the ledge at gunpoint, or even—" Sara hesitated for a moment, focusing her camera on the woman's hand.

"What is it, Sar?" Nick asked his partner, squinting at the location that her camera was now aimed at.

"It may not have been a suicide," Sara frowned, pointing out a tattoo of the word 'Mars' surrounded by a circle on the inside of the woman's right hand.

The moment that Nick noticed the tattoo, he sighed in frustration. "This will make the seventh dead woman with the same tattoo mark on her hand. If we don't find out what's going on—" he trailed off.

"I know, Nick," Sara softly replied. "I know, so let's do what we were hired to do. We know that all of these women are connected in some way. Now we just have to figure out how."

"Right," Nick mumbled. _Easier said than done_. "Let's get to work."

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**TO BE CONTINUED **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers: **None. This also takes place before Sara left for Costa Rica.

**Title: **Mars

**Summary: **Seven dead women, one mysterious tattoo. Can Sara find and stop a serial killer?

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"So what did you find out at the hotel?" Greg asked his co-workers, pouring both Nick and Sara a mug of Boca Sunrise Coffee. "Anything that will help us nail this guy?"

"No," Sara pursed her lips, taking a sip of the citrus-flavored beverage. "Once we ID'd the body, we were able to locate her room. Although one of the hotel security officers said that she checked in with a male companion, we were unable to find any trace of a second person in her room."

Nick fingered the rim of his mug, staring into its murky depths. "And what's more is that the witnesses who saw her body fall to the ground did not see a second person on the balcony with her."

Sara stared at the far wall of the lounge for a moment, lost in thought. "I just don't understand what's going on here. Seven possible suicides, with no suicide notes or concrete evidence to prove that someone else was involved. It just doesn't add up."

Sitting down across from Nick and Sara, Greg took a swig of his coffee. "Have you had a chance to locate her family yet?" he wanted to know.

"We have," Nick confirmed with a small smile. "We were just about to go pay them a visit, actually. Caitlin Walker, age twenty-three, left behind both parents and a younger sister."

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"Caitlin's suicide came as a huge surprise to us," Wes told the two CSIs once everyone was situated in the family's living room. Holding his wife's hand in his lap, he closed his eyes for a moment in order to collect his thoughts. "Up until a few months ago, Caitlin seemed so happy. She was just about to graduate from college with a degree in teaching, and she was eager to begin working on her career."

Eileen sniffled, gripping her husband's hand with all of her might. "My baby was such a good girl. She never drank, she didn't do drugs, she had a 4.0 average. I just—why did she kill herself?" she asked Sara, her voice tinged with sorrow.

Sara briefly glanced at Nick, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Although she had never lost a child, she could certainly understand how distraught Caitlin's parents really were. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ma'am," Sara began. "But you said that Caitlin seemed happy up until a few months ago, right? What happened to change that?"

Wes spoke up for his wife, his face turning crimson in fury. "It was her no-good, two-timing, drug addict boyfriend," he spit out. "She was a good girl until she met him. He destroyed her! He destroyed my daughter's life!"

This time it was Nick who tossed Sara a knowing look. "Sir, you said that this boyfriend made Caitlin unhappy, rather than happy?"

Wes nodded his head. "We never met him in person, but we could hear him over the phone whenever we called to talk to Caitlin. He was always putting her down, calling her worthless."

Eileen wiped several of her tears away, looking between both Nick and Sara. "Last month, she told us that she wanted to drop out of school."

"Did she give a reason, Ma'am?" Nick softly asked.

"Yeah, she said that she wanted to join the Mars Commune, and that she would never have to work outside of the compound again."

"The 'Mars Commune'?" Sara's mouth suddenly went dry. "Did she happen to tell you what the Mars Commune was?"

"No," Eileen started to sob. "She said that the commune was for members only, and that she would not be able to contact us again. We tried to find out where the place was located, but we couldn't. I just wanted to see my baby, to make sure that she was okay! I wanted her home with her real family, not locked away in some… some cult!"

"It's not a cult!" a voice shouted from just outside of the living room.

Sara's head swiveled in the direction of the voice, her eyes widening at what appeared to be a younger version of Caitlin Walker.

"It's not!" Sixteen year old Andrea Walker repeated, angrily staring at her parents. "Caitlin would have been fine if she had only followed the rules!" Shoving her hands deep within the pockets of her jeans, she tried not to make eye contact with any of the adults in the room. Speaking to non-members of the Mars Commune would get her exiled, and possibly even executed.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Nick got to his feet, surprise etched on his face. "You know something about this Mars Commune?" he asked her.

"Of course I do!" Andrea declared, fear now mixed with her defiance. "But I'm not going to tell you anything about it!"

"Oh yes you will, young lady," her father rocketed to his feet, completely caught off guard by the recent turn of events. "If you know what happened to your sister, you better start talking!"

"And who's going to make me? You?" she laughed, sorrow now also making an appearance on her face.

"No, me," Nick took out his cell phone in order to call Captain Brass.

"No, me," Sara corrected her partner, studying Andrea's expression. She could tell that she was enthralled by the Mars Commune, but she had also noticed Andrea's other emotions: the fear and sorrow had certainly not been lost on her. "Definitely me."

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**TO BE CONTINUED **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I am so sorry that I haven't updated this fic (or any fic) in 2 or 3 years. I've had horrible writer's block, and something has seriously just knocked the floodgates in my brain wide open. I'm going to do my best to update this in a timely fashion, but please bear with me. I'm also trying to watch seasons 8. 9, and 10 of CSI (I stopped watching for whatever reason). Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers: **None. This also takes place before Sara left for Costa Rica.

**Title: **Mars

**Summary: **Seven dead women, one mysterious tattoo. Can Sara find and stop a serial killer?

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Sara placed a warm hand on Nick's arm to stop him from moving toward the sixteen year old. _Let me_, she mouthed, slightly tilting her head in Andrea's direction. "Why don't you quickly check in with Brass and Gris, and then rejoin us?" she suggested.

Nick bit his lip, gazing at his partner. Of course he trusted her judgment, but Andrea was currently their best lead toward tracking down the location of the Mars Commune. He wanted to do what he could in order to help the team gather useful information about the Commune, and he knew that checking in was not where he needed to be. But it _did _have to be done, and it seemed as if Sara had a plan.

"Nick," Sara calmly and quietly repeated. "Please, check in with Brass and Gris, and let me see what I can learn."

"Yeah, okay," he finally agreed, carefully extricating himself from the family room. "But I'll be right back in case you need me," he added, punching in Brass's speed dial number on the way to the hallway.

Sara nodded her understanding, shifting her attention to Wes, Eileen, and Andrea. "Would you like to take a seat?" she gently asked the young girl, pointing to one of the plush chairs in the room.

"No," Andrea half-laughed in defiance, the laughter not quite genuine enough to reach her eyes. "No, I really wouldn't like to take a seat. Would you like to leave? I think leaving would be a fantastic idea," she snidely added.

Noticing the pallor of Andrea's face, Sara couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid. She seemed terrified, despite her attempts to put on a confrontational front. "I understand that you're scared, but—"

"I am _not_ scared!" Andrea interrupted. "You have no _idea_ whatI am!" she screamed.

At the sudden outburst, Nick quickly ended his call, glancing back into the room.

"Don't you _dare _talk to CSI Sidle like that!" Wes thundered to his daughter, lunging across the room so that he was standing toe-to-toe with her. Shaking with rage, he stared at Andrea. "Now you _sit _down, and you _tell_ them what they want to know!"

"Sir," Nick calmly intervened, returning his phone to his pocket. "Please try to calm down. I know that this is an emotional situation," he nodded toward Eileen, who was now crying, "But please let us try to do our jobs. Why don't you join your wife on the couch?"

"But I just want her to cooperate with you so that we can figure out what happened to Caitlin. That's all I want. Why can't you understand that?" he asked Nick, the anger fleeing as quickly as it had arrived.

"We _do_ understand," Nick tried to placate the older man. "We truly do. But screaming at Andrea won't help bring back your other daughter."

Wes sadly nodded, shuffling back over to his wife's side. Taking a seat, he stared at the ground, holding his head in his hands as if he were a defeated man.

Blocking out the parents, Sara again gazed at Andrea. "Is there anything at all that you can tell us that might help us find your sister's killer?" she gently prodded. "We just want to help, Andrea. I get the feeling that there's more going on in your mind than you're telling anyone."

"Are you calling me a liar?" her eyes narrowed. "Because I'm not!"

"I know," Sara attempted to soothe her, perched on the edge of the couch in a way that she hoped came across as non-confrontational. "I don't think you're lying, I just think that you're afraid," she held up her hands to ward off the young girl's imminent protests. "And that's okay, because if you want to know the truth, so am I."

"We all are," Nick added, taking a seat beside Sara.

"…Why?" Andrea whispered, directing her question to Sara. "Why are you scared? You're not the one who's going to die when they find out that I'm talking to you. They're too powerful," she continued. "_He's _too powerful, and he'll kill me.

"Who?" Nick interjected. "Who's the he?"

Andrea rolled her eyes at Nick. "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to her," she pointed to Sara. "Men are—whatever," she muttered under her breath.

Nick looked at his partner, slightly shrugging.

So Sara simply repeated Nick's question. "Who's the he? Anything you can tell us will ultimately be helpful. I'm worried that we won't be able to stop the killings, which is why we're really trying to get information from you."

Andrea finally took a seat in the chair near Sara, her expression a mix of anger, frustration, and fear. "You'll never figure it out," she informed the CSI. "You can poke and prod all you want, but you'll never find the Mars Commune no matter how hard you try. Harold is sneaky, and he'll move the moment that he knows you're on to him."

"Do you have a last name for Harold?" Nick couldn't help but ask, silently apologizing to Sara when she shot him a quick glare.

"No," Andrea answered his question anyhow. "And I don't know the Commune's location, except that it's within two miles of the Strip. That's all Caitlin would tell me," she added, the anger now completely replaced with resigned fear.

"Thank you," Sara smiled at the girl. "We're going to do our best to bring your sister's killer to justice."

"Yeah, whatever," Andrea swallowed. "But while you're looking for her killer, you might have to find my own. I won't be alive for long."

Nick and Sara exchanged glances. "Do you really think they're going to come after you?" Sara gently asked. "We can protect you, you know."

"Don't bother," Andrea bitterly laughed. "They'll find me anyhow. It's inevitable."

Eileen gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Don't worry, Ma'am," Nick turned to Mrs. Walker. "We're going to have a unit watching your house at all times. We'll make sure that your family is safe. The Mars Commune is now our number one lead, making it our top priority." Although he didn't say it aloud, both he and Sara knew that seven dead women were somehow connected to the Commune.

"If anything happens, or if you hear anything, please don't hesitate to call us," Sara handed Wes her card. "We'll be in touch, though."

Mr. and Mrs. Walker stood up, following Nick and Sara to the door. "Please let us know what you find," Wes mumbled, wrapping an arm around his distraught wife.

"We will," Sara nodded, flashing the family a small smile.

"Like we said, the unit will be keeping an eye on things, and is already down the road. Hang in there. Don't hesitate to call us if you need anything at all."

With one final nod, Wes closed the door on the CSIs.

"Well at least we have a starting point now," Sara sighed to Nick as they walked back to their vehicle.

Nick nodded, hopping behind the wheel of the Denali. "When we get back to the lab, let's crosscheck the name Harold with all of the realstate and rental properties within a one mile radius of the strip. Maybe go back five or ten years?"

"Sounds good," Sara mused, staring out of the passenger side window at the changing scenery. "Did you see how nervous Andrea was?" she asked. "She was rude, definitely, but the rudeness seemed to mask fear and sorrow. Nick, I don't think she's really happy with the Mars Commune."

"Well can you blame her?" Nick glanced at Sara for the briefest of moments before returning his attention to the road. "The Commune is somehow connected to seven deaths, her sister's included. Something isn't right with that place, and she seems to think that she's next."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Sara whispered.

Unbeknownst to Mr. and Mrs. Walker, as well as to Nick and Sara, Andrea was in even more danger than they ever could have imagined.

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**TO BE CONTINUED **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I am so sorry that I haven't updated this fic in a couple of months. Real life hasn't been too helpful. I am really hoping to have this story finished by my wedding date (May 21), so here's to hoping that I can pull it off. Thanks to those of you who have been reading and/or reviewing; it's much appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers: **None. This also takes place before Sara left for Costa Rica.

**Title: **Mars

**Summary: **Seven dead women, one mysterious tattoo. Can Sara find and stop a serial killer?

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"Any leads on an address for the Mars Commune, Greggo?" Nick calmly asked, walking into the lab where his coworker had been scouring various databases for the past several hours.

"Yeah, a few," Greg barely glanced up, his eyes glued to his monitor. "I expanded the search radius to three miles off of the strip, because Andrea Walker mentioned something about the commune being within two miles of it. I cross-referenced all properties bought and sold to someone by the name of Harold, and came up with eight possibilities."

"Eight?" Nick's eyebrows shot up in interest. "That's not too bad, bro."

"No, it isn't," Greg hit print just as Sara entered the room. "I ran all eight names through the system, and came up with records for five of them."

"Any of those five in jail at the moment?" Sara curiously asked.

"Yep," Greg handed the printout to her. "Two of them are currently out of commission."

"So that leaves us with Harold Simmons, Harold Jenkins, and Harold P. Morrison," Sara read through the document, handing it over to Nick when she was done perusing it.

"Simmons and Jenkins were both arrested for assault and grand theft," Nick commented, "And Morrison for fraud and petty larceny."

"My money is on either Simmons or Jenkins," Greg informed everyone, leaning back in his chair.

Nick wasn't so sure, though, and shook his head no. "The Mars Commune reminds me of a cult, and cults remind me of places where the strong pray on the weak. In my mind, the best way to do that is through fraudulent activities."

"Well my money is on wherever the evidence leads us, so shall we go?" Sara cleared her throat, wanting to explore all of the options before drawing her own conclusion.

"Yeah, sure, but it's spooky when you channel Grissom like that," Nick laughed, strolling to the door. "Greg, you in?"

"I've got some evidence to process from the Wellington case, so no thanks," he made himself comfortable in his chair. "See you guys later, though. I'll send Brass the directions."

"Thanks, and later, bro," Nick called out over his shoulder.

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Sara sighed as she glanced out of the passenger side window of the Denali, absentmindedly playing with a loose string on her vest.

"What's wrong?" Nick hesitantly asked, throwing her a sideways look as he approached a red light.

"… Cults," she murmured her reply. "I don't really like them."

"Does anyone really like them?" he chuckled.

Sara remained silent.

"Okay, besides the people living in them?"

Again, Sara remained silent.

Nick furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at his friend's reaction, stepping on the gas pedal when the light turned green. "Lemme ask you this," he tried again. "When you say you 'don't really like them,' does at least a small part of you find them interesting?"

"Well—" Sara trailed off. "Yes and no."

Nick again laughed. "You're not making much sense, Sara," he informed her.

"It's not that I like them, per say," she finally turned to look at him. "It's that a very small part of me understands the appeal of being in one."

"Uh, come again?" Nick's confusion only grew.

"I know it sounds strange, but I understand how it feels to desperately want to belong to a family."

"But you _are _in a family: ours," he flashed her a small smile.

Sara briefly placed a reassuring hand on Nick's arm, giving him a soft smile. "I know, and I appreciate that," she murmured, returning her attention to the world outside of her window, her smile slowly disappearing. "But it wasn't always like that for me. Growing up, my family was… different. That isn't the point, though," she rushed on. "Cultists have a way of finding those who desperately want to belong, and then making them feel loved. When people feel loved, well, they're more willing to do things that they wouldn't normally do."

"Do you really believe that?" Nick quietly asked.

"Yeah, I do," Sara looked at him, a haunted expression on her face. "How many times have we read about cult members giving up their entire life savings for the good of the cult? Or how many times have we seen people join a cult, only to turn their backs on their old lives?"

"Plenty, I guess," Nick mused, turning down a suburban street. "You're sort of describing religion, though, too, in terms of donations and belonging."

"I'm hardly making that comparison," Sara snorted back a laugh. "There's a big difference between organized religion and cults, even though many cults form around religious beliefs. No, Nicky. Cults can be extremely dangerous if the wrong person is running things."

Nick pulled up to an older looking house, the home of Harold Simmons, mulling over Sara's statements. She had a point, that was for sure. The Branch Davidians made themselves famous in 1993 with the Waco, Texas, standoff between cult members and three separate governmental agencies, resulting in the death of not only the cult leader, but of 82 of the leader's followers.

And then there was Heaven's Gate, where the cult leaders somehow talked thirty-nine members into committing suicide in 1997 while the Comet Hale-Bopp was at its brightest.

And who could forget the Manson Family and the brutal murders which resulted from simple instructions from its leader.

No, Sara was definitely right. If led by the wrong person, cults could be extremely dangerous.

"That's why we have to find the right Harold," Sara softly told Nick as she climbed out of the car, waving at Brass as he pulled up behind them. "He's praying on women who just want to be loved, probably getting off on either killing them or watching them commit suicide."

"We'll find him, Sara," Nick led her up the path to the front door of the house. "Just be patient."

"Patience will only lead to more deaths," she mumbled under her breath.

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"Two down, one more to go," Sara flopped into the passenger seat, completely exhausted and discouraged. "Neither Harold Simmons nor Harold Jenkins are the right man. Who would have thought that locating a cult would be this difficult?"

"I don't think they really want to be found, Sara," Nick pointed out, turning the key in the ignition. "If they did, every cultist's family would be banging on the door to get in."

Sara turned to look at Nick, her eyes wide with surprise.

"What?" he cautiously asked, gazing back at her.

"You're right," she told him, feeling her heart start to race. "They don't want to be found, so they're hiding."

"And?" Nick prompted.

"And we'll have to be sneaky if we want to find them—" she was interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell phone. "Sidle," she answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Sara, it's me, Andrea," the sixteen year old's terrified voice filled her ear.

"Andrea? What's wrong?" she asked, motioning to Nick to pull over. "Where are you?"

"They took me, and they're going to kill me!"

"Where are you?" Sara urgently repeated her question.

"I don't know!" Andrea fearfully replied. "I'm scared! His name is Harold Morr—something," she told the CSI. "But he _said _he was going to kill me! You have to save me, please!"

"Morrison? Is it Harold Morrison?" Sara asked, slamming her phone shut in frustration when the line suddenly went dead. "They have Andrea," she needlessly told Nick, "and in order to get her back, I'm going to have to join the cult."

"_What? _Are you out of your _mind_?" Nick gaped at her. "You can't join the cult!"

"Well we can't just go up to Morrison's house with guns blazing!" she irrational retorted. "What if he kills Andrea before we find her?"

"Sara, seriously, you need to breathe." Jumping as something knocked on the Denali's window, Nick sighed in relief when Jim motioned for him to lower the window. "Harold took Andrea," he immediately filled the captain in. "And Sara wants to go in."

"Well that isn't going to happen," Jim told Sara. "But we'll go pay Mr. Morrison a visit right now, to see what we can see."

Sara held her protest to herself; if she had to, she would make herself seem worthy enough to join the Mars Commune. She wanted Harold taken down, and she didn't think that them showing up at his front door was going to do much to reach that particular goal.

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**TO BE CONTINUED **


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